


Kindness of Strangers

by pocky_slash



Category: Sherlock (TV), Torchwood
Genre: Crossover, Manipulations, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-03
Updated: 2010-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 12:03:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah walks into a bar five times. Ianto walks out of a bar five times. One of them doesn't remember it. One of them wishes they could forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kindness of Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://intoabar.livejournal.com/profile)[**intoabar**](http://intoabar.livejournal.com/) Prompt: "Ianto Jones walks into a bar and meets Sarah." HUGE thanks to [](http://solsticezero.livejournal.com/profile)[**solsticezero**](http://solsticezero.livejournal.com/) for beta + sounding board. This is... a bit darker than anything I've written in a long time.
> 
> For additional content warnings, see the additional notes below.

Sarah walks into a bar a nearly trips over a tall man in a suit. He has big blue eyes and a sly smile that throws her off guard, flusters her. She stutters an apology, but he brushes it off, his hand sliding down her arm as he offers her a drink. He's younger than he seems, too young for her to accept the offer, really, but she's agreeing before she can think about what's proper and right.

He orders a Scotch and soda and tells her she has a pretty smile.

***

"I don't like this, Jack," Ianto says. It pointless. He's said it before. He said it three times during the initial discussion and twice more when Martha presented them with the syringes. He said it again when they drove home. He said it again when Jack came up to him in the kitchen, lips on his neck, eager to fuck his reservations away. He's said it a dozen times since, his voice quiet and firm and insistent, a steady counterpoint to Gwen's shouts of defiance.

He says it this last time, anyway, as if it the words are justification for what he's about to do, as if a token protest will be enough to assuage the guilt rumbling low in his stomach.

"We do what we need to," Jack says. "We're protecting her."

He presses the syringe into Ianto's hand and then loosens his tie, pops open the button at his collar.

"It's a good look on you," he says. Ianto doesn't comment, doesn't flinch, and doesn't fix his tie when he leaves the hotel.

It is a good look on him, and as nauseous as this makes him, it's his job, and he's nothing if not efficient.

***

Sarah walks into a bar and has a glass of white wine spilled on her blouse by a polite young man in a cardigan. He apologizes over and over again, his lips curled into a flustered smile, his Welsh accent tickling her eardrums.

She lets him buy her a drink and then another.

***

"She's broken up with John Watson," Ianto says the second night. He doesn't let Jack dress him this time, but he's not strong enough to push him away when those big, warm hands settle on his hips while he buttons his shirt.

"We knew that," Jack says. His nose is cold against the back of Ianto's neck.

"We suspected," Ianto corrects. "But she told me for certain last night. She said if she stayed with him, she'd keep following him into danger. That she had to be smart enough to end it now before she got more attached, because she knew once she was, she'd never be able to stop."

"Smart girl," Jack says. His breath curls around Ianto's ear and sends shivers down his spine. Even when Ianto wants to kill Jack, wants to hit him, he still _wants_ him.

"I can't criticize Watson for pulling her into danger because he cares about her." Ianto slides the syringe into the pocket of his corduroys. He's going for bumbling geek tonight, a counterpoint to last night's Lothario. "I want to, but I can't. Torchwood is no better, in that regard. If anything, we're worse."

"That's different," Jack says, palms smoothing down Ianto's spine. "You know it is. You're a field agent, Ianto."

Ianto swallows.

"I was talking about Rhys," he says. "I didn't think we--nevermind."

Jack's hands on his hips urge him slowly around, but it only masquerades as a request.

"You didn't think we what?" Jack asks.

Ianto can't look him in the eye.

"It's not important," he says. "I have to go. I'm going to be late."

***

Sarah walks into a bar and takes a seat at the lone empty booth near the back. She's staring into her wine when a sweet young man quietly asks her if she would mind, terribly, if he sat with her. He gestures with his pile of books at the other tables, all full-up with regulars. He blushes and pushes his glasses up his nose when she consents.

There's something sad about his eyes, so she offers to buy him a drink. The smile he gives her in return is even sadder.

***

The glasses make Jack hot.

Everything makes Jack hot, of course, but Ianto's been avoiding him since last night. There are two more days left in London, three more nights of doing this before they can return to Cardiff and Ianto can pretend this was a bad dream, can cordon off this part of his brain, wall it up and repress it until he can look Jack in the eye without wanting to be sick.

But he doesn't have to look Jack in the eye for this. He closes his eyes, lets Jack's hands slide beneath the sweater vest and rumpled oxford. He lets Jack touch him and whisper filthy things. He lets Jack get him off, because beneath the fear and disgust, there's always desire.

Jack kisses him with warmth and affection and something like concern, but Ianto ignores it and pushes himself away from the wall. He fixes his clothes (tweed, glasses, sweater, loafers) and picks up a pile of library books. He checks his pocket for the syringe and leaves without looking back, even when he hears his name, soft and broken on a sigh.

***

Sarah walks into a bar and is immediately stopped by a boy in too-tight denims and a purple silk shirt. He croons about her necklace for a full minute before she stutters out an introduction. He clutches his chest in exaggerated embarrassment at his social faux pas and offers to buy her a drink to make up for it.

She had hoped, distantly, to pick up a man tonight, but maybe what she needs is a different kind of affection.

***

"Do you think we need to talk?" Jack asks.

Ianto concentrates on styling his hair.

"We haven't, lately. Talked, I mean."

The jeans are all right, but he's not sure where he's going to put the syringe. Or his wallet, come to think of it.

"Ianto...."

In the end, he slides them into the pockets of his jacket and leaves.

On the bed, Jack is starting his third Scotch.

***

Sarah walks into a bar. She orders a glass of wine. She sits away from the crowd. She's not normally one to make the first move, not in a place like this, but something compelled her as she walked past. It was enough to get her inside, but not enough to get her mingling.

She needn't worry, though, because it's not long before a man slides into the booth across from her. He's young, maybe ten years younger than her, but his eyes are dull and tired and old enough to make her stomach hurt. He smiles, but she can see the distance there. He's wearing a black pinstriped three-piece suit with a deep purple shirt and a burgundy tie.

"Miss Sawyer," he says. "My name is Ianto Jones. And I... Miss Sawyer, I'm so sorry."

***

"No costume." It's not a question.

"Last night," Ianto says. He smooths the tie against his chest and then buttons the waistcoat over it.

"Ianto," Jack says. "We're not fighting about this. We're not still fighting about this. We're doing--"

"--what we have to do," Ianto says. "Yes. I got that bit, thanks." He sighs and closes his eyes. His head is swimming. He hasn't slept more than a few hours since the first night.

He doesn't pull away when Jack's arms suddenly surround him.

"The infection makes her immune to normal retcon," Jack says. "She's one of three hosts to a parasite that could destroy human history. She can't be allowed to carry it into the general population. She can't be allowed to remember what she saw."

"And this is the answer?" Ianto asks, though he knows it is.

"Yes," Jack says.

"And it has to be me?" His voice nearly breaks, but he swallows past the lump in his throat. He doesn't open his eyes, even as Jack kisses his eyelids, his temples, the corners of his mouth.

"I'm sorry," Jack says.

Ianto believes it.

***

Ianto Jones walks into a bar and into a bar and into a bar and into a bar and into a bar.

He's a suave businessman. He's an awkward IT specialist. He's a history professor. He's a flaming party boy. He's a guilty nobody from a Welsh estate with blood on his hands.

Ianto Jones walks into a bar and picks up the same girl five nights in a row. He comes onto the same beaten-down doctor with tired eyes and a determined set to her jaw.

Ianto Jones leads her on. Ianto Jones lets her kiss him. Ianto Jones slips rohypnol into her wine five nights in a row, and then takes her back to her flat, where he ties her to her bed and injects her with an alien solution that burns her veins like acid.

Ianto Jones is stopping an alien plague. Ianto Jones is the savior of the human race.

On the fifth night, Ianto Jones confesses his sins to her. While she swears and sobs at him, while she screams ineffectively in the soundproof bubble of an alien holding cell, Ianto Jones tells her he's sorry.

In the morning, she'll wake up in a hospital, the last week of her life a vacant hole in her memory. Ianto Jones will lie awake in a cramped camp bed in the bowels of Cardiff, the memories of her screams echoing in his head.

He'll pretend his sacrifice is enough to honor hers.

He'll almost believe it.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Warning:** Drugging, could be seen as dubcon though there's no sex involved.


End file.
